


Husband and Wife

by sweetNsimple



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Aprons, Clothed Sex, Cross Gender Roleplay, Crossdressing, Domestic, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Female Pronouns for Sergei Vladimir, Feminization, Housewife Kink, Housewife Roleplay, Light Bondage, M/M, Marriage Roleplay, Outdated Gender Roles, Penetrative Sex, Rimming, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay, Spanking, Table Sex, consensual feminization, they just love each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:28:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29233797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetNsimple/pseuds/sweetNsimple
Summary: It was the kitchenette that held his attention. His 6’7” wife stood barefoot at the stove, wearing an apron with red straps and a golden trim. Just by looking at those thin ropes tied into a neat bow over her rump, he knew it was her favorite Matryoshka doll apron.She looked over her shoulder at him, one eye wide and grey and soft. “Hello, husband.”~:~Sometimes, Nikolai has a wife. A very large, very... hungry wife. In more ways than one.
Relationships: Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Sergei Vladimir
Comments: 10
Kudos: 12





	Husband and Wife

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnotherAnon0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/gifts).



Nikolai could smell the _solyanka_ from outside his front door. He paused for a moment, hand on the knob, and let his eyes gently fall shut. He breathed in deeply, taking the scent of beef and sausage deep into his lungs until his entire body was warm with the sweet and sour tang of the stew that was brewing inside of his apartment. The scent of that stew told him a great deal.

It told him, first of all, that his door was going to be unlocked. His wife always left the door unlocked whenever she came to visit.

He put his key away and twisted the knob and, behold, he was right. He stepped into his small unit, afforded to him by UMBRELLA as part of his room and board, and locked the door behind him. To ensure their privacy, of course, though it would take a very foolish bastard to try and break into _his_ apartment. A foolish, _suicidal_ bastard.

With the simple studio layout of his apartment, his kitchenette was to his right and was separated from his living room by an island countertop. Pressed to the furthest corner of his apartment was his neatly made bed.

It was the kitchenette that held his attention. His 6’7” wife stood barefoot at the stove, wearing an apron with red straps and a golden trim. Just by looking at those thin ropes tied into a neat bow over her rump, he recognized it as her favorite Matryoshka doll apron. He had given it to her as a joke years ago and she had taken obsessive care of it ever since. No stain had managed to avoid being scrubbed out and every loose thread had been tended to so that the only true way to know the apron’s age was by its _slightly_ drained coloration. The pocket of the apron was made to look like a Matryoshka doll and would be holding, Nicholai knew without looking, whatever spices she needed for her meal and lubricant.

She looked over her shoulder at him, one eye wide and grey and soft. “Hello, husband,” she greeted him in Russian. Nicholai was not a nationalist by any means but tension he had been holding in his shoulders still fell away at the familiar drawl and trill of the language he had grown up with.

“Evening, wife,” he burred. He allowed himself to lean back on the door, arms crossed over his chest, and take in the scene before him.

Yes, she loved that Matryoshka doll apron. She also loved wearing nothing under it. The red ties formed long bunny ears at the small of her back that drooped over the milky pale globes of her ass. There was a smear of slick across one cheek as if she had hurriedly wiped her fingers there. That told him all he needed to know about his wife’s wants.

“How was your day?” she asked. She put a lid on the stew and turned the stove down low. Her bare feet padded across the linoleum as she went to set two places at the small dining table that was pressed up against the wall opposite of his kitchenette and right next to his door. Within touching distance.

Nikolai lazily shrugged himself off the door and, in two steps, was behind her. One hand went under the apron to squeeze her hip and the other pressed against her lower back until she was leaning over the table. There was no struggle as she went down, only her quiet and instant enthusiasm. He nudged his boots between her bare feet and she spread her long legs obediently.

“I’d rather not talk about my day,” he told her. She squeaked as he leaned forward and nipped at the planes of her shoulder blades. His wife was a massive woman and he could not reach any higher. That was fine, though.

“Was it a difficult day, m-my husband?” she peeped. Her hands kneaded at the wooden surface of the table.

“It was unnoteworthy.” He pressed a smirk to her spine. “The truth is that I was distracted.”

“You? My husband? Distracted?”

“I was thinking of my wife and her pretty white hair. Her pretty pink lips and how they look when they are sucking me off.”

She gasped. “H-husband!”

“What? I’m only telling the truth! I was thinking of her giant clit and how messy it gets when she feels good…” He walked his hand over her hip to the clit in question. He gave it a fondle just to feel her gush. “I was thinking of her hungry _cunt_ and how much she loves to get fucked by me.”

“Is that all your wife is good for?” she mewed. “Holes for you to use?”

“She also makes very good meals,” he allowed with a bobble of his head. He squeezed his fist around her clit to hear her cry out and feel her almost drop down onto the table. “Call me a fool, but I might also love her.”

He grinned as her hips thrust forward, his hand getting wet as she gushed.

“You can’t just say that!” she yelled. “I can’t…”

He kissed the back of her ribs. The right side of her body, from collarbone to just above her hip and stretching from right elbow to sternum, was mottled, glossy flesh interspersed with scars from long ago projectiles. His pretty wife had been caught in an explosion during the Soviet-Afghan War. He had been _furious_ to find out how close she had been to dying, practically murderous. That was the past, however. It was time to focus on the present.

“I can’t,” she repeated softly.

“You can,” he told her. “You can because I want you to. Don’t you want to do things that make me happy?” Of course she did. That was why she was his wife. He pressed a kiss to the other side of her spine. He continued to fondle her clit, his other hand massaging one buttock until her thighs were trembling.

“Yes… Yes, I want to make you happy.”

“Tell me why I love you.” He unbuckled his belt, letting the metal clasp jangle loudly, and managed to open his fly with some effort with one hand. He was only half-hard, but he had always been somewhat more difficult to excite than his wife. She was always willing to have sex, always willing to splay herself open and please him, always willing to be a _vehicle_ of pleasure. He began jerking his cock off against her sloppy pink cunt, rolling his hips so that his cockhead nudged against her wet hole.

She whimpered. “Y-you should tell _me_ , husband…” She thrust back against him, trying to take him in.

He was not quite ready for that, however. He moved away and squeezed hard at her clit until she whimpered and writhed against him. He relaxed his grip and she fell meekly still.

“Tell me,” he said again, evenly and without inflection. He continued to pump his dick. For his own amusement, he thwapped her ass with his cockhead and listened to her blather. He thrust the shape, the heft of his penis, over the small of her back. She shivered.

“You…” She sucked in a deep breath. “You love my cunt?”

“Mm. Delicious fucking cunt,” he agreed with a nod. Enlightened, he let go of her clit and dropped to his knees so that he could show her just how much he loved it.

The lube she had used was… chocolate chip cookie. Oh, God. Her propensity for trying increasingly obscure lubricants was getting out of hand.

He hummed as he lapped at her slick, hands pulling her cheeks apart so that his tongue could delve into her cunt. She moaned, long and low, and bent over completely at the wait to rest on the table.

The lube was very, _very_ sweet. Addicting. His wife knew him well.

He slurped loudly and thrust his tongue in deep, massaging her buttocks.

He pulled away for a moment, letting his leather-clad glove smack against her ass. He was still wearing his fingerless gloves.

She _squealed_ , the white peaches of her ass tightening momentarily.

“Tell me what else I love about you,” he demanded. He sucked a mouthful of cheek into his mouth and teased it with his teeth, not biting hard enough to bruise, but enough to worry the flesh and make it blush a delightful red.

“You love my clit?” she answered, her voice thin and soft as if she had yet to decide if she wanted to be heard.

He released her ass and let one hand slide around her until he was holding her clit again. It was resting on top of the table, only cushioned by the fold of her apron. At his touch, she curved her spine upward so that he could worm his way between her solid belly and the wooden surface. He rubbed his thumb over the tip of her clit. 

“Such an eager clit,” he praised.

“It’s too big…”

“Big clit for a big woman,” he returned easily. He ran his tongue roughly over her pussy.

“H-husband!”

“What else?” he asked. He ran his tongue around her slit and then plunged inside, distantly frustrated that his tongue was not longer. She cried out weakly, squeezing down on him. He cackled with delight and the reverberations only made her _tighter_ as a whine built up in her chest and then spilled out of her lips.

“You love my… My…” She was grinding back against his face and then into his hand, seeking her own pleasure. He let her with a smirk that was pressed into her flesh. “My hair. You think it’s pretty.”

He hummed in agreement, making her moan.

“You love how… strong I am.”

He let loose a little growl to make sure she understood just how much he loved that. His wife was capable of incredible, if not impossible feats. Nikolai often watched with lust boiling in his belly knowing that there was no one stronger than his wife in the entirety of U.B.C.S.

She was quiet for some time, little hums and breathy _mm umm uuummm’s_ spilling from her lips. His tongue still inside of her, he delivered a punishing _slap_ against her rump. The motion jerked on his tongue – not a great sensation – and caused her to squeeze down on him simultaneously – a much better sensation. She _squealed_ , clit jumping in his hand.

He slurped as he pulled away and gave her another _slap_! Her ass jerked and she squealed again. She liked that.

“One more,” he crooned. “Give me one more reason and then I will fuck my wife’s pretty cunt. Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that why you dressed like this? So that your sweaty, filthy husband would fuck your needly little pussy as soon as he walked through the door after a long day of work?”

“I did!” she keened. “Yes, please, that, husband!”

“One more,” he promised. He trudged back to his feet and fisted the base of his leaking cock, smearing his pre-cum against her winking, soaked cunt. He removed his other hand from her clit and pressed it between her shoulder blades. She loved being held down during sex.

Standing, he could see that she had turned her head to the side, her one grey eye straining to see him over the long, broad line of her back. She had bitten her bottom lip raw and her pale cheek was flushed darkly.

Still, she hesitated.

He considered the long, thin ropes of the ties, the bow that rested low on her back, its long droopy ears. There was enough slack there, he decided, for what he was going to do. He plucked at the loose knot until it came undone and then let go of his cock to bring one of her wrists to the small of her back, palm facing up. Her grey eye widened as her lips parted.

“Husband?” Her voice was a little, shrill thing.

“Yes?” he asked smugly, bringing her other hand up and crossing them at the wrist, forcing her shoulders to strain toward him and away from the table. He casually began to twine the little rope between and around her thick wrists.

“But, my apron – ”

“Yes, it is a very cute apron. I love when you wear this apron.”

“You love my apron!”

He paused as he realized she was trying to use this as her last reason.

“Mm. One more.”

“But you said –”

“I did not like that one,” he explained himself blandly. “And, besides, I bought you this apron. It does not count. One more.”

She was breathing hard, arms twitching. She could easily tear the skimpy little rope – except she would never do so. Not because she wanted to be tied down, which she might, but because she would never do anything to harm her favorite apron. She was going to have to be extra careful to not pull or tug too hard or else she would rip the fabric.

He was grinning like a villain as he neatly tied a tiny little bow that rested in the center of her one of her palms.

“You love how… how powerful I make you feel.”

True. However…

He slapped her buttock and listened to her squeak. “Not false, but not good enough. One more.”

“You _said_ – ”

 _Slap_!

“ _Aah_!”

He soothed his gloved palm over the sore flesh. Her pink cheeks were alluring. Both sets.

“You love…” she was barely speaking at this point, her voice was so soft and breathy. He cocked his head almost mockingly as he listened, eyes squinted. “You love my… mouth?”

_Slap!_

“One more.”

“You’re horrible!” his wife sobbed. “A horrid husband!”

His grin grew wider as she swayed toward his palm, wanting more.

“You love my meals!”

_Slap! Slap!_

He occasionally wished that she had a softer tush if only because he wanted to see it jiggle every time he slapped her. This was not so bad, though, how her ass rippled and clenched. Her white peach cheeks were such a dainty red.

Her hands were fists at the small of her back, wheezing in her uncomfortable position as she tried to rock against the table.

“I’m your wife!”

He paused as he went to swing again. He rested his hands against her, palming her cheeks and then massaging them together. “And what does that mean to you?” he rumbled. “To be my wife?”

“I… I belong to you. My pleasure belongs to you. My… happiness belongs to you.”

“Does it?” he teased.

“Yes!”

“So it is my duty to give you happiness, is it? Whenever _I_ want?”

“Yes, husband.”

He gave one cheek another resounding _slap_! She jerked up the table with another cry.

“Am I giving you happiness right now, wife?”

“Y-yes, husband…”

“Tell me that I have given you happiness.”

“You have… you have given me… happII- _nessss_!” Her eye rolled back as he thrust inside of her loose cunt, cockhead just popping inside. He eased his other hand under her to play with her clit. With two, three more thrusts, he was seated in her to his balls. She was gaping beneath him, gasping hotly against the wood of the table. Her fingers twitched and the muscles in her bunched shoulders were shivering.

“You are right, wife,” he told her in a deep, gravelly voice. “I do love that you give yourself to me like this… That you have… for _years_ …” He pulled out, one slow inch by the next, until her pussy was suckling hungrily at just his glans. She was trying to squeeze down, to drag him back in, and he let her. His hips slid smoothly forward to embrace the curve of her buttocks once more. “You could have had anyone… and you chose _me_.”

He grinded deep inside of her to feel her tremble, to listen to her blather and keen.

“Do you know what else belongs to me?” he asked her, panting around each word as he rolled into her slick heat, as she rippled and tightened around him.

She whimpered in question, grinding back onto his cock and forward into his hand, wanting both.

“ _Your_ love,” he reminded her. “Tell me you love me. Tell me you love this.”

He thrust in as deep as his cock would allow him and held himself there, other hand rubbing her clit.

She sobbed, writhing against the table. She was struggling not to rip the red strings of her apron, struggling to take all the pleasure he was giving her at the same time, struggling to take _more_.

“I love this!” she keened,

“Tell me you love me!” he snarled.

“I do… I love you…” She was breathless, swallowing dryly whenever she had the chance, her eye wet. “I have loved you for so long, my wolf.”

“My sweet wife…” He sighed with euphoria, pulling out to the tip and thrusting forward again, slow and easy, letting her feel every inch inside of her hungry pussy. “My darling, obedient, loyal wife.”

She sobbed. “I love you!”

He planted his hand between her curved shoulder blades, putting stress on her arms and giving the illusion that he actually had the strength to hold down someone as powerful as her. No one did. She _gave_ him the power to hold him down.

“Love you…” She groaned, giving over to gasps and whimpers as his other hand stroked her clit and his cock dragged over the hidden bundle of nerves inside of her. With a weak cry, she orgasmed. Her gush of juices got caught in the fold of her apron and soaked his hand. As she came, her cunt squeezed around him like a fist and he yelled at the intense pressure. Nikolai folded forward, forehead to her back, as he hammered unsteadily into her wet pussy, chasing his own relief.

“Love this…” she panted, her legs trembling. “Give me… Cum inside... I – I am your wife!” He could not see her face, but he could hear the strain in her voice. He knew she was bordering on oversensitive, that she loved the intense burn of being fucked after her orgasm. The pain and pleasure were vodka to her and she got drunk with it. Her voice was high and tight as she slurred, “Husbands… must give their wives… c-cummmm…”

He chuffed even as he complied. The things she said sometimes… “Just for you… _wife_ …” He rolled in deep and the tight ball of tension between his hips snapped. He climaxed and his seed filled his whimpering wife, the receptacle of their combined pleasure. His mouth fell open, panting wetly against her spine, and his eyes were squeezed shut so tightly that stars burst behind his eyelids. His hips kept thrusting helplessly, pushing vulnerable, meek noises from his wife.

Struggling to breathe through the aftershocks, head dizzy and legs shaking as he grinded his deflating cock in her messy cunt, he became aware of an acrid smell.

He licked his chapped lips. “Seryozha…”

“Mm… Hm mm? Mmmmmm…”

“Seryozha…”

His wife sighed dreamily. “Yes, Kolya?”

“The _solyanka_ is burning.”

He yelped as he was thrown backward, landing awkwardly on his half-clothed ass as Sergei suddenly launched himself up and toward the stove. Without thinking, Sergei reached out to turn off the stove and move the pot at the same time. The itty bitty rope holding his wrists together _snapped_.

The _solyanka_ continued to burn for a whole other minute as they stayed frozen.

Sergei’s head oh-so slowly turned, followed by his torso and then his legs, until he faced Nikolai’s sprawled form. His one grey eye was deadly calm.

His thin pink lips, however, wobbled.

Nikolai sighed as he trudged to his feet and righted himself, zipping his fly. “Yes, alright,” he said. “I will sew it for you while you salvage dinner, yes?”

Those wobbling lips turned into a barely suppressed smile. “Thank you, Kolya.”

Despite the smoke entering the kitchenette, Sergei took the time to very carefully remove the remains of his apron and hand it over, as if it held immeasurable value. Nikolai didn’t dare disrespect however much love Sergei had for the flimsy material, so he held it just as gingerly as he turned toward the living room and flopped down onto his couch. Next to the couch was a chest in which held a number of important or vital resources. This included a sewing kit.

His mama had taught him to sew when he was a little boy, a necessary trait for someone so impoverished. His sewing had continued to do him well in the Soviet Army. And now look at him.

Using his sewing abilities to prepare his lover’s silly apron. Perhaps Sergei had trouble understanding how Nikolai loved him, but there should be no doubt that Nikolai _did_ , in fact, love him very much.

He finished sewing the red ropes back onto the apron and carefully tended to the corners where the ties had been attached to. This was not the first time he had fixed this apron and only by feeling the stitches he had put there before could he even tell that the apron had ever been damaged before. It was his best work.

A naked body plopped down next to him. Sergei was pouted, picking at his bottom lip with his pointer finger and thumb.

“Stop doing that,” Nikolai told him. “You make yourself bleed when you do that.”

“Ah – yes. I did not even notice.” He laid his hand on the scarred half of his chest, nails scratching into the mottled grooves and over glossy white skin.

“Dinner is ruined, isn’t it?” Nikolai guessed.

Sergi’s pout deepened. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t cry about it. It’s not that important.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Sergei’s grey eye became shadowed and distant. To Sergei, it _had_ been important. Whenever he wanted to be Nikolai’s wife, it was vital to his fantasy that he feed Nikolai, that he _provide_ like he felt a good housewife would.

Nikolai backpedaled hard. “It’s not that important because you already fed me.” He stared intently at Sergei until he realized what Nikolai perverse act he was talking about.

A giggle bubbled out of Sergei’s chest and he cupped a hand over his mouth. “That was awful, Kolya.”

Nikolai licked his lips with a leer. “Not at all. You were very sweet for me.”

“I always am!” Sergei peeped haughtily. “I am a very sweet wife!”

Nikolai snipped at his thread and handed the repaired apron over to his lover of many years. “I liked that flavor, by the way,” he added. “You should use that one more often.”

“I had hoped it would be sweet enough for you.”

Nikolai leaned forward and kissed Sergei’s collarbone. An arm came around his waist and twirled him into the older man’s lap, making him squeak in surprise. His legs split around Sergei’s waist and he sat back on rock-solid thighs with an indignant huff. Sergei was grinning at him with pure delight.

“When you are my wife, you are always sweet enough for me.” Nikolai tugged on Sergei’s bangs, eliciting a chuckle from the older man. “When you are my… _boyfriend_ …” He sneered at the word, the sheer juvenility of it, as if they were children instead of middle-aged men. “You are nothing but a brat.”

Sergei gasped in mock insult. “I am a _sweet_ boyfriend! Take that back!”

Nikolai leaned in and silenced the older man with his mouth, daring to slip his tongue past the other’s parted lips. Sergei shuddered against him, easily falling open and letting his own tongue play until they were slipping and sliding.

Nikolai pulled away eventually, when his lungs were burning and his cock gave a valiant though unsuccessful attempt to rise again. Sergei stared after him with one dazed eye, cheeks dusted with color and lips bruised red.

“I suppose you are sweet enough,” Nikolai drawled.

Sergei licked his lips. “That lube _is_ very sweet.” With a grimace of distaste, he dragged his tongue up the side of Nikolai’s neck above the collar of his vest. Nikolai squawked in a way that was very much not sexy as Sergei lapped at his salty skin.

“I can’t go twice in one night! You know that.”

“I – am not – soliciting you – for sex! That tastes – awful!” There was a pause between almost every word as he licked Nikolai. He gave the cut of the younger man’s square jaw a sharp nip that made Nikolai hiss. “You taste much better,” he purred.

“Insatiable,” Nikolai grumbled. He let Sergei do what he wanted, though. Largely, he was trying to think of a way to swing the discussion back toward starting dinner up again without causing Sergei more distress.

He was fucking starving.

**Author's Note:**

> I blame AnotherAnon0. And the many, many conversations I have had with them. About Sergei and aprons... and Sergei and never getting to eat his goddamn food... And Sergei and being a housewife... Yeah, I blame AnotherAnon0. 
> 
> May they be sustained by this.


End file.
